


A Stitch, Unraveled

by sinnerman



Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short random glimpse into Moebius' memory.  He did many things wrong, and he paid for them all.  But one crime is closer to his heart than all the others....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stitch, Unraveled

If there was one truth in the world, it was that Raziel was beautiful.  He was beautiful as men were meant to be beautiful.  A feast for the eyes, that awakened a hunger in the flesh.  He was not beautiful only when painted and ready for the court, he was beautiful at all times.  Whether he was dripping with sweat as he walked off the practice field, or laughing with joy as one of his companions told of a successful hunt, or covered in blood and ichor after a successful hunt of his own, Raziel was beautiful.

But never was he more beautiful than he was right now.  His hair damp with sweat, sweat that rolled down the clean lines of his muscular young body.  His skin, flushed with the glow of glorious sex.  His lips, lush and full as always, red from passionate kisses.  There were scars and bruises on his skin, the marks of honorable battle, as well as marks of lustful adoration.

Moebius, the Time-Streamer, leaned back in his chair and continued watching the scene before him.  Raziel, the beautiful, moving his hips against the body of one of his Sarafan brothers, rousing the other to full hardness.

With a soft sigh, Moebius raised his hand.  The image in his scrying pool shifted, and there was Raziel again.  Still beautiful, but different now.  Fair skin turned ivory pale, but still Raziel was slender, well-made, and utterly desirable.  He was on his hands and knees, and though those hands now ended in glittering black claws, they still dug into the ruined sheets just as they had in the days of Raziel the Sarafan warrior-priest.  His moans of pleasure were almost the same, but this Raziel, the faithful Vampire lieutenant, was much more quiet and subdued than his former self.

Not that Raziel remembered anything of the old days. No, it was only the watchful eyes of the Guardian of Time that compared and contrasted the old with the new. And to those jealous, watchful eyes, Raziel was still beautiful. Even now.

Raziel arched back, his claws curling involuntarily into the bed beneath him as he served to slake his Lord and Master's terrible lust. He buried his face in his hands, breath that he didn't need coming faster and faster as Kain thrust into him. Old habits die hard - much like Vampires. Raziel's body, corrupted but still essentially human, shuddered as his own pleasure began to rise in time with Kain's brutal need.

Moebius watched, and wondered at Raziel's passionate submission. Was it faith or some flavor of Raziel's own lust that made him serve Kain this way?

Unbidden, the scene in the scrying pool changed again. A younger Raziel, new to the priesthood, looking up at the sorcerer with admiration and desire. The older, bitter, and more experienced Moebius watched his younger self rebuff the young priest’s shy advances, thinking them nothing more than a pretty child’s attempt to get even more attention.  He watched himself walk away, he watched the hurt and sadness fill Raziel’s lovely eyes, and then he raised his hand to wave the image away.  But the image lingered longer than it should have, and Moebius cursed himself for being a blind fool.

History cannot be undone.  Only altered, slightly.  If not Raziel, it would have been one of his other Sarafan brothers forced into the role of Kain’s most faithful.  Moebius dismissed the scrying pool and readied himself to go meet Raziel in his final transformation.  He sighed quietly to himself.  Moebius knew that there was not and never would be a way to save Raziel from his horrible fate.  No choice the Time-Streamer could make would spare Raziel from his destiny.  And there was too much at stake for him to go back and convince himself to believe Raziel’s passionate words.

As if to mock him, the scrying pool changed again, to the memory of a fateful night where a faithful knight set out to slay an unknown demon.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” smiled Raziel.  He strapped on his sword, and checked the buckles of his armor once last time.  “I’ll kill this demon, Moebius, and when I come back, we will have that talk you promised me.  Don’t forget!”

“Forget?” whispered Moebius, here in the present,  and there, in the pool.  “How could I?”


End file.
